


Star Wars of the Caribbean

by Calipsan



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-03 21:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calipsan/pseuds/Calipsan
Summary: It is the Age of Sail. Pirate ships, striking from a hidden base in the Caribbean Sea, have won several small victories against the evil East India Company. Determined to destroy the rebellion, the HIGH CHANCELLOR has deployed a new fleet of ships led by COMMODORE THRAWN to crush the Pirates. Pursued by the East India Company's sinister fleet, Captain Leia holds a meeting on her ship to form an alliance and restore freedom to the seven seas….





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My husband and I have always talked about how Star Wars is so much like the Age of Sail. So thus comes this story!

In the early morning mist, a watchman, high on the foretop of the  _ Devastator _ , rubbed his eyes, not sure if his vision was clouded with sleep or fog. Deciding on the latter, he leaned forward and kept his eyes wide. A vaguely square shape cut through the whiteness off the starboard bow, and he gripped the rigging to lean forward farther. They were off the coast of St. Lucia, so it was not unlikely to see another ship, but there was something strange…

The ship he watched sailed out of the mist and a greyed hull with white tattered sails emerged. A wreck? But here away from reefs? The ship floated toward him as if guided by no hand of man, and he raised the alert. 

The alarm bell roused the crew, and as the watchman made it to the deck Captain Montferrat was storming out of his cabin. “Was it you who raised the alert?”

“Yes, sir. There’s a… a ship in the distance,” he knew how weak that sounded, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Montferrat’s face grew red. “A ship? What manner?”

“A derelict, sir--” 

But before the watchman could finish, another man called from the starboard rail, “No crew! It’s a ghost ship!”

Montferrat rolled his eyes with the expression of a man who’d had enough of superstitious sailors. “Silence there, men. Let’s see this derelict.”

The captain marched up to the rail and extended his spyglass. The watchman stood by as the ghost ship slowly floated toward them, barely disturbing the water as it moved. Sure enough, not a man was visible on board and the sails seemed too tattered to carry the ship. 

All at once, everything changed. A roar of cannon fire erupted from the ghost ship sending the decks into a mass of splintered wood. All around him, men screamed to their battle stations, but as another volley fired and his vision went white, the watchman already knew they were defeated.

* * *

Salty air and the bright Caribbean sun greeted Luke as he pushed open his door and stepped onto the street. It was midmorning, so the shops were bustling and the streets were crowded with carriages and merchants hauling goods. Though he’d been in Port Royal for over a month, he was still in awe of it all. When he looked at these shoppers and the cobbled streets, it wasn’t much different from London where he’d grown up, but the comfortable heat soaked into his bones rather than the chilling damp, and when he lifted his gaze the sky was a clearer blue than he’d ever seen at home. The glittering sea in the distance beckoned him instead of repelled him as the Thames had done. 

Dodging between pedestrians and horses, he rushed down to the docks, knowing he was going to get a thrashing for being late.

Oh, but he couldn’t help but gawk as he saw the mainmast of the  _ Executor _ rising above the various  _ lesser  _ ships. He hurried to the left to get a better look, and there it was soaring up from the ocean: fresh black and silver paint shining, one hundred guns, a thirty-four-foot beam and ten sails, it was one-hundred and seventy feet of what a ship of the line should be. Moving about on deck were the lucky sailors who got to serve on board. It looked like they were preparing to shove off. Probably more pirate hunting--

“Luke?”

He winced. Looks like he was later than he thought.

Old Ben had come up behind him soundlessly and when Luke turned he was grateful to see a smile rather than a scowl of disappointment. “I know you can’t resist these warships,” Ben chuckled, tugging off his wide brimmed hat and dabbing some sweat from his brow. “And believe me, I can see its beauty and its power. But little scows like ours have their place as well.”

“I know, I know: I can’t let myself get distracted by glory,” Luke said, quoting Ben’s oft-used reproach.

“Precisely. Modesty is important,” Ben said as he walked back toward the merchant dock.

Yeah, Luke thought to himself, no problem being modest in our boat. As they approached the  _ Coruscant _ , Luke tried not to feel crestfallen. It’s sails were worn and its paint dingy, but they had just rerigged it, so at least it handled better now. 

“We’ve got to sail about to the east side today.” Ben said, making sure the cargo was secured. “Weigh anchor, Luke.”

“Aye, sir,” Luke said, chastised. He really ought to be more grateful. A year ago, when he was toiling on his uncle's farm outside London this would have been paradise. And it was, still. As they set sail, he looked out at the endless lapping teal waves that surrounded them and told himself that it didn’t matter what ship he sailed on, what mattered was that he was here and he was a sailor like his father had been.

* * *

Eli Vanto walked briskly to keep up with Captain Thrawn as they made their way down the dark wood-paneled corridor that led to the high chancellor’s Bengali office. Eli grimaced at the clicking of his heels on the floor. He couldn’t wait to get back out to sea and change into something more practical than these ridiculous shoes and this frilly frock coat. 

“Where do you think he’s going to send us?” Eli asked, remembering the horror that had been their last mission to the Spice Islands to quell a native uprising. It had been painful for Thrawn, an Indian native, and Eli, a half-blood, even though Thrawn had done his best to spare as many lives as possible.

“I surmise we will be traveling West,” Thrawn said, his English still accented, but improving by leaps and bounds. His vocabulary, Eli thought with a mixture of pride and shame, would probably be better than his soon. “I hear that the high chancellor has been sending a great many forces to protect shipping fleets.”

“West?” Eli asked in surprise. For the last few years, they’d been serving under Admiral Richyn shoring up defenses in the Bay of Bengal, and Eli couldn't imagine why Thrawn would think they were going anywhere else. 

As Thrawn opened the door, Eli readied himself for an audience with High Chancellor Palpatine. Not only did the head of the East India Company inspire all the expected fear from his power and prestige, but he also carried with him an air of mystery as he always wore a thick robe and hood which obscured all of his face except the tip of his nose and the glint of his eyes. Few were ever granted an audience with the High Chancellor and when you were, it was seldom good news.

The elaborately decorated room was ostensibly for meetings with a long table and chairs, but the only person in the room was Palpatine himself, near a window.

“Welcome Captain,” his oily voice crooned. 

Thrawn immediately snapped to attention and Eli followed suit, always distracted by Palpatine’s presence. Their leader moved almost as though he were floating in his floor-length black robe and took a seat at the head of the mahogany table. 

“Thank you, High Chancellor,” Thrawn said, sitting a few chairs away from him.

“You and Richyn had great success at the Spice Islands. I daresay we won’t be hearing from those savages again.”

“The success is all owed to Richyn’s great leadership.”

“Nonsense!” Palpatine snapped. “Richyn, himself, reported that the  _ Wasp _ , under your command, was the deciding factor in that skirmish at Long Cay.”

“That’s right, sir,” Eli affirmed.

The High Chancellor shot his sparkling eyes at Eli. “Indeed.” He turned his head back to Thrawn. “That is why a change is in order, Captain. I have been displeased with Lord Vader’s attempts in our western holdings. Therefore, I’d like for you to go there and bolster our defenses.”

Thrawn bowed his head formally. “Of course, High Chancellor. I will be sailing under Lord Vader’s command?”

Eli doubted Palpatine could hear it, but Eli caught on to the faint annoyance in Thrawn’s tone. He and Eli had heard many reports of Vader’s brutal style of combat and leadership, so he knew Vader was certainly not a person Thrawn would like to serve under.

“Quite the contrary. I’ll be giving you the  _ Chimaera _ and command of the Seventh Fleet,  _ Commodore _ .”

Eli couldn’t hold in a gasp as his eyes darted to Thrawn’s face which also held surprise. Commodore? Thrawn had only been serving in the Navy for five years, and normally it was unheard of for even an Englishman to be  _ captain _ in that short amount of time. Though they served alongside many Indians, it was unfortunately rare for any of them to be promoted to command, yet here Thrawn went again. All the other captains in Richyn’s fleet-- some of whom had been serving ten years or more--would be borderline mutinous. 

“Your generosity--” Thrawn began.

“Will be rewarded with the destruction of those pirates in the West Indies.” Palpatine stood, pacing back to the window with wrinkled hands clasped behind his back. “They’ve been wreaking havoc with supply lines and attacking our ports. Already they’ve made away with thousands of pounds worth of merchandise.”

Thrawn and Eli stood too, sensing their dismissal. “Those pirates will be... _ Kāḍhūna ṭākalā _ ,” Thrawn said, looking to Eli for a translation.

“Eliminated,” Eli provided.

“See to it you learn better English on your journey West, Commodore. I don’t wish to hear that heathen gibberish in my presence.”

Thrawn set his jaw firmly and swallowed hard, giving another bow. “Yes, High Chancellor.”

“Prepare for your journey,” the High Chancellor snapped. “I will send word of your promotion and see to it the Seventh Fleet is ready for your immediate departure.”

Eli and Thrawn bowed out of the room, and as soon as they were gone, Thrawn’s expression soured further, his shoulders tensing. 

“Don’t let him get to you,” Eli said, putting a hand on Thrawn’s shoulder. “Marathi isn’t gibberish. Just because he doesn’t speak it doesn’t mean--”

Thrawn whipped to face Eli, black eyes burning. “English is the language that matters,” he whispered furiously. “The language that got me here. If I hadn’t learned it and English customs as I have, I might as well have been one of those island rioters we crushed.”

He strode forcefully down the hallway and Eli hung back, giving him space. 

* * *

  
  


“Hey Chewie!” Han shouted as he hung from the foremast’s rigging, struggling to see by the moonlight. “Toss me up that--”

His first mate was already ahead of him, throwing the coil of rope effortlessly up to Han. 

“Thanks” Han grunted, catching the rope and once again securing the mast. These gales sure were doing wonders for their travel time, but the already damaged  _ Falcon  _ wasn’t holding up very well. Tortuga better be coming up soon. Climbing back down to the deck, he pondered the last few weeks. He and Chewie had been near the coast of Africa intercepting slave ships and stealing their gold before they could make port and buy their cargo. While it had been a very lucrative job, the  _ Falcon _ was worse for wear and they’d barely made it back to the Caribbean Sea. The rest of the crew, though happy with their plunder, weren’t going to put up with Han much longer. 

Dropping to the planks he looked over to see stalwart Chutami back to manning the helm. Good old, Chewie. If it hadn’t been for him, they definitely wouldn’t have made it out of the Gulf of Guinea. 

“ _ Kapteeni, meidän kaaviomme osoittavat, että meidän pitäisi saapua Tortugaan tänään. _ ”

“That’s sure a relief, buddy. Once we get into Tortuga, hopefully we can finish up these repairs and,” he added with a grumble, “dump the mutinous crew.”

The streets were brightly lit with torches even though it was midnight. The most unsavory sailors and merchants strolled from canteen to canteen as the ale flowed plentiful from barrels. Hanging from the second story porches were flags of many nations, and a few drunks who were spilling the contents of their stomachs. Women of every shape, size, and color waited outside the inns for visitors, and some walked shoulder to shoulder with the men as captains and sailors. The air was thick, and all around was wild revelry and happy music from accordions, guitars, harpsichords, and fiddles. Tortuga was just as Han remembered it

Han’s thrown-together crew had disappeared with their cut as soon as they docked.. Looks like he’d need to pick up a new crew before he would be able to leave. All for the best, the  _ Falcon _ needed a lot of work before they could shove off, and he didn’t want any of those guys hanging around. He needed a real crew. A crew of men he could count on. 

He and Chewie cut through the crowd and into Tatti’s pub. The barkeep struggled to keep pace with the many sailors who crowded around with empty tankards, but away from the bar, the clientele was more subdued.

“Let’s sit toward the back,” Han said, settling at a corner table. “It’ll be nice just to get a fresh meal.”

“ _ Se ei todennäköisesti ole tuore _ ,” Chewie said with a smile as he settled his massive frame. 

“That’s a good point. Not exactly the place for haute cuisine.”

As he spoke, a rowdy crew burst through the door. “Drinks all around!” A huge olive-skinned man in their party shouted. “We’ve sunk the  _ Devastator _ !”

A drunken cheer went up from the crowd, and the crew cheered along with them. Along with the giant who led the way, there was a shapely woman with two long braids, a man with an eye patch who walked beside her, a young woman carrying an assortment of weapons, and a boy a little younger than her. An orange parrot fluttered in after them and landed on the shoulder of the woman with braids. The whole crew seemed to be formed out of Caribbean natives except the well-armed woman and maybe the giant. She could have been from the orient and was he Greek? 

“ _ Ghost-miehistö, _ ” Chewie offered, leaning closer to Han.

“I knew that,” Han said with a smirk. 

So that was them, he thought. He’d heard of the _Ghost_ back before he and Chewie had left the Caribbean, and they’d already become a nuisance to the East India Company then with their unusual strategy.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves to the ghosts, shall we?”

Chewie gave a nod indicating he’d let Han do the honors, so Han left him there and waded through the crowd to the newcomers.

“Hey there,” he said to the man with a patch. “Good job sinking that ship. I assume it’s an East India Company one?”

“Oh,” the man said pointing to the woman with braids, “It wasn’t me. That was all Hera’s plan.” 

Han directed his eyes to the left and then up and down.

“Eyes up here, monsieur.” Hera snarled. “Or I won’t let you keep them.” 

The dagger in her hand said she meant business, and Han held up his hands in mock defense. “I meant no harm. Just, uh, noticing your fancy boots.”

“Sure,” she said dismissively, turning back to the bar and sheathing the blade.

“Who’re you, anyway?” The giant asked, shouldering into the conversation.

“Han. A privateer. And you are?”

“Garazeb Orrelios. But I reckon that’s more of a mouthful than _ you _ can handle. Zeb.”

Han didn’t like the lip this crew was giving him, but he sure wanted to find out a little more about the activity in the area he just pulled up to, and he thought these guys might be able to fill him in.

“I’m Kanan,” the eye-patched man said. “Most people around here aren’t usually so friendly. Something you’re after?”

Han smiled his most broad and unsuspicious smile. “I’ve been out of the area for a while, and seems like you all can catch me up on what I’ve missed.”

“How long have you been gone?” the Oriental woman asked.

Han pondered it. He’d been away from his home waters longer than he meant to. “Almost two years now.” 

“You’ve missed a lot. Governor Tarkin’s brought in a fleet to ‘help protect the coastline from pirates,’” she spat. “But this fleet is just there to protect the interests of the East India Company. Lord Vader and his ships have been tearing apart anyone who gets in the way of the shipments.”

Han’s blood ran cold. Back when he served his brief stint in the Royal Navy a few years ago, he’d heard of Vader. The East India Company’s Navy had always been more fearsome than even the British Navy, though few would say it out loud, and part of the reason had been Lord Vader. A nobleman from some ancient house or other, he’d been taken on as the High Chancellor’s lead enforcer, quelling any dispute or unrest that troubled The East India Company’s rapid expansion. 

“Vader’s here?” He asked finally.

“But we’ve kept him on the run!” The youngest member of their team piped up.

“Us and the others,” Hera said softly. “Since you’re new in town,” she said, turning to face him with her tankard in hand. “You should know what you’re getting into.”

“I’m not getting into anything. I work alone,” Han insisted. 

“Have you got a ship?” The oriental woman asked.

“Sabine,” Hera admonished.

“If he’s got a ship then we could use him!” Sabine argued.

“Sure, I got a cargo ship. The fastest there is.”

“Oh really?” Sabine asked skeptically.

“That’s right.”

Kanan laughed and it started them all. 

“What’s so funny?” Han insisted glaring at them all in turn. “The  _ Falcon _ is the fastest ship in the Caribbean and I’d be willing to bet my life on it. She made the run around Dead Man’s Cay at ten knots.”

That got Hera’s attention. That orange parrot watched him from her shoulder with sparkling black eyes. “So you’ve got a sloop. Not much room for cargo there.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve got a galleon.”

“No galleon could go that fast!” Zeb scoffed. 

“Let’s see it! I bet--” The boy demanded. 

“Ezra,” Kanan interrupted.

“Now hold on, little one--” Han started.

“Don’t call me little one!” Ezra snapped, glaring at Han through locks of his jet-black hair. 

“Why don’t you have a seat Mr. Han,” Hera said, kicking the stool beside her with the toe of her boot. 

“Just Han, and look, I don’t want to get involved.”

“You brought a pirate galleon into--”

“I’m no pirate.”

“Privateer. Right. Sailing under what marque?”

“One I haven’t got to tell you about. Excuse me,” Han said, slipping quickly back to his table with Chewie. That got hot real fast.

“ _ Ei mennyt hyvin? _ ”

“No, Chewie,” Han snarked. “It didn’t go well. Look, let’s get out of here.” 

“ _ Minun ruokani on matkalla _ .”

“Fine, we’ll go after you eat. Don’t suppose you got me anything?”

“ _ Kala ja sirut. _ ”

“My favorite, thanks Chewie.” He watched the  _ Ghost _ crew, but it looked like they weren’t going to follow him. For now.

* * *

After a long day sailing around the coast, Luke heaved a sigh and leaned against the mainmast. 

“A satisfying day,” Ben said, looking out at the sunset from the helm. 

Though Luke had started the day grumbling, after a lot of lifting and hauling of cargo, he felt much better. Maybe it wasn’t the  _ Executor _ , but the  _ Coruscant  _ was their little ship, and he was proud of it.

“I’m sorry, Ben. I...was disobedient this morning, and ungrateful.”

His master gave a soft smile. “It is good to have ambitions, Luke. Admirable, even. But you can’t lose sight of the present looking forward to the future. It’s likely a commission on a ship like that is part of your future one day. But not  _ that  _ ship.”

Luke raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Why not that ship? It’s the pride of the East India Company. One of the best ships in the ocean. Why shouldn’t I want to be on that ship?”

“There is much you don’t know, but the East India Company is no friend of ours. No friend of the Caribbean.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. Of course he knew that the Company went to great lengths to assure the security of its shipping lanes, but they had to. The ocean was filled with pirates who wanted nothing but to line their pockets with gold at the expense of others. He had heard whispers of the Company committing atrocities, but Governor Tarkin assured the city those were lies spread by enemies of the colonies. Yet, here was Ben implying they were true.

“There’s no more to say now,” Ben said, closing the subject. “I simply mean for you to be aware of your desires and temper them with reason.”

“Yes sir,” Luke said, watching the docks at Port Royal appear in the dusk. The mast of the  _ Executor  _ again towered above all other ships moored there, and in the gathering dark, it’s Company flag appeared black and ominous.


	2. Chapter 2

The  _ Chimaera  _ was a fantastic ship. Maneuverable and with a shallow draft, she skimmed over the water like a ship half her size. Her sails caught the wind like none Eli had ever seen, and she was outfitted with more top-of-the-line guns than most warships. The quarters and the galley were well-appointed, and the hard-working crew kept the decks spotless. Eli had never been on such a fine ship. But after being onboard for over two months with one-hundred-twenty other men, the charm had worn off. Much more accustomed to short trips and brief military engagements, Eli had not been prepared for such a long crossing. 

“And how much flour did you say we had left?” Eli asked Aarav in Marathi. 

“About twenty pounds. Starting to run low.”

Eli gave him a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it narrowly. Whoever was the last quartermaster on the  _ Chimaera _ really knew how to cut things fine. It’s that way with all the supplies.”

“Aye, sir.” Aarav said. “He was a fine sailor.”

“Was?”

“Killed in a skirmish with the Dutch.”

Eli frowned, hoping that didn’t foreshadow his own fate. “Sorry to hear that, Aarav.”

When the cook was silent, Eli added, “I’ll see you for dinner, huh?”

As Aarav muttered his response, Eli gratefully ducked out of the steamy galley and up into the stiff breeze on the main deck. Sykes manned the helm as he had for much of the trip. Eli got the idea he didn’t really trust Thrawn that much-- as it was with most of the crew. The few Indians on board were grateful to have Thrawn as their commander, but the Englishmen gave both he and Eli a hard time. Though Eli’s father had always insisted to the public his son was full-blooded English, and the East India Company had treated him as such, it was clear the crew of the  _ Chimaera _ was paying more attention to appearances than what it said on paper. His well-tanned skin, dark hair, and brown eyes told his half-blood story well.

For Thrawn, of course, prejudice had been part of his whole journey through the Company’s Navy. Eli hated to say Thrawn was used to it, but he certainly knew how to handle it. Eli was still learning.

“What’re you looking at, Sykes.”

“Nothing,  _ Lieutenant _ ,” The captain sneered. 

“Good. Hate for you to have another mistake because you’re too busy gawking.”

That shut him up. A week ago, Thrawn had really laid into Skyes after he sailed into an unstable current, causing some of their cargo to shift. Overall, it had been minor, but Eli sure liked to watch Sykes squirm. 

Eli walked across the deck to the Commodore’s cabin making sure everyone was at their posts and all was going smoothly. In the distance, he could see the masts of the  _ Ajax  _ and the _ Nihil _ , the two frigates in the Seventh Fleet, clipping along with the  _ Chimaera _ . When he reached the door, he knocked twice before coming in. 

Thrawn was, as usual, analyzing a map that he’d spread out on his desk. He’d been doing his best to learn as much about the Caribbean sea as he could in preparation for their arrival. His coat was draped on a chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up showing off his muscled forearms. 

“ _ Tē kasē yēta āhē, sara _ ?” Eli asked. 

Thrawn looked up at Eli and then back to the map. “Poorly. There is not enough information on the people of these islands, and I fear these maps are inaccurate.”

Ok, English, then, Eli thought. “Griet says these are the finest maps of the Caribbean he’s got.” Harmon Griet, the navigator, had his head in the stars most of the time, but he did know what he was talking about when it came to charting courses.

“The cartographers are substandard. See here?”

Eli leaned over his shoulder, looked at the crude outlines of islands dotting the sea west of Jamaica, and winced. “I see what you mean.”

“No currents, sand bars, offshore reefs. It’s practically useless. This guidebook I was given: it is supposed to have descriptions of encounters with the natives of these islands, but there is nothing of their art, their language, their social order. All I can find is information about the British, Dutch, and Spanish colonies there. But we’ve been fighting them all along. I know their tactics well.” Even though Thrawn’s voice wasn’t raised, the intensity spoke unquestionably of a foul mood.

Eli gave a soft sigh and sat in one of the desk chairs. Thrawn followed suit, taking a breath. “I apologize,” he said.

“Apologize?” Eli sputtered. “For what? I think you’ve been handling things remarkably well considering we’ve been shipped around the world almost blind.”

A slight smile played on Thrawn’s lips. “What’s the mood of the crew today?”

“Well enough, I think everyone’s ready for us anchor at Port Royal.” 

Their last stop at Fort James in the Gambia had been nearly twelve days ago, so they should be arriving any day, but this was the most dangerous part of the crossing: they were all-at-sea in the middle of the Atlantic and nerves were on edge.

“Yes, there are many aboard ill-suited to long voyages,” Thrawn said, steepling his fingers.

“I can tell you don’t like it much,” Eli said.

“It’s not the voyage I find objectionable.”

Eli certainly understood that. “I bet everyone will get along eventually. It’s just like the  _ Wasp _ . People have got to learn you know what you’re doing. As soon as they see what you’re like in a battle, they’ll be won over just like everyone else has been. You remember how skeptical Richyn was when you joined his fleet.”

“I remember,” Thrawn said fondly. “He threatened me with the cat of the nine tails when I ordered the helmsman to break formation.”

“Normally people say cat-o--”

The alarm bell rang, cutting through Eli’s words. 

“Seems as though they might get a taste of my military skill sooner than we anticipated.” With those words, Thrawn grabbed his hat and spyglass and made for the door with Eli hurrying after him.

Thrawn was on the forecastle in a second with his spyglass to his eye while Eli rushed up to Sykes at the helm. All about, men were rushing to battle positions. Before he could speak, Sykes cut in.

“Pirates, Lieutenant. Off to port.” Eli could tell he was about to raise his voice to address the gathering crew, but Thrawn had already begun.

“Stand down, everyone, stand down!”

Eli heard the echo of Thrawn’s order traveling across all five ships in the fleet as Sykes shoved a crewman to the helm and pushed past Eli. The confused crew parted to allow Sykes through and he angrily approached Thrawn.

“Hold battle positions, but remain steady,” Thrawn continued.

As Eli was still moving through the ranks of men, Sykes grabbed Thrawn by the coat lapels and gave him a firm shake. 

“You cur, what do you think you’re doing? We’ll be blown out of the water!”

With a swift motion, Thrawn popped Skyke’s hands from his jacket. “Oh? You told me when we began our journey you had no experience with pirates in the Caribbean.” As he spoke, Thrawn walked past Sykes and up to the port rail to watch the distant--but steadily approaching--pirate ship.

The crew watched in a mix of excitement and horror as their captain attacked the commodore. Eli was glad Thrawn was good at defusing a fight because he was pretty sure most of the crew wouldn’t take his side.

The question took the helmsman off-guard, and he answered in a sputter. “I haven’t got experience with these rats, but--”

“Then you do not know what they will do,” Thrawn said calmly. “Return to helm. Hold us on course.”

Sykes gave a defiant look to Thrawn and shouldered past Eli, muttering furiously. Maybe  _ everyone  _ wouldn’t have a change of heart about Thrawn after all. Eli stepped up beside the Commodore, looking through his own spyglass. The ship undoubtedly flew a black flag, but it looked like it was changing course. Perhaps it realized that a full fleet was more than it could handle. Sure enough, when it was two leagues away it veered off.

“What do you see,” Thrawn asked Eli, folding the glass and putting it away.

“Looks like they were reconnoitering.”

“Indeed. Seeing who else was coming to join the...khēḷa?”

“Game?” Eli provided.

“Do we pursue,  _ Commodore _ ?” Sykes shouted disrespectfully from the helm.

“Steady on our course,” Thrawn announced to the crew rather than Skyes. “As you were, but keep an eye to the horizon.”

The crew dropped its battle formation with some degree of trepidation, many glancing out at the sea, but all doing their best to politely ignore Thrawn as he marched across the deck to Sykes. 

“May I have a word with you, Captain.”

“Have all the words you like, Commodore. I bet that’s all you’ve got in that fancy uniform.”

Thrawn straightened his shoulders. “You should not have stood against my orders, Captain, and you most certainly should not have laid hands upon me. I give you this one warning, and that will be all.”

Sykes didn’t seem to take Thrawn’s words seriously, but all the same, he nodded. “Aye, sir.”

“Very good then. I will be in my cabin making preparations for our arrival. From the formation of the waves ahead, and the appearance of that ship, I believe we will be in Port Royal within the hour.”

With that, Thrawn stepped down from the quarterdeck and into his cabin. Eli hoped they’d dock in an hour-- the tension on board was palpable. 

* * *

As the  _ Tantive _ made full sail back to Tortuga, Captain Leia Organa pondered their next move. Those were without question more East India Company ships coming to support Lord Vader’s fleet. The Company was starting to fear for their precious trade routes and slave ships. She smiled. That meant she and her team were doing their job. Standing and crossing to her parrot’s stand in the corner of the cabin, she stroked Artie and he nuzzled his grey head into her hand. None of their work would matter, however, if this next fleet came in and tore them all apart. They needed a strategy and not just one that could be carried via parrot from ship to ship. She would have to call a gathering and just hope the pirates would come. 

Stepping out onto the deck, she surveyed her crew and made her way to Wedge who spoke animatedly to Dak about recent developments in matchlock pistols.

“Bo’sun,” she said, nodding politely to Wedge and Dak in turn.

“Yes, Captain,” Wedge said, immediately on-duty.

With a twinge of guilt, Leia considered all that her crew had given up to follow her on this foolish ride.

Sir Bail Organa had been appointed Governor of Jamaica by Charles II in 1665. The crossing to the West made up Leia’s first memories, and all her early years in the colony had been happy ones. She learned as she grew older that part of the reason her father asked for the governorship was to help the native people of the island as well as the colonists. He advocated for an end to the slave trade and increased protections for the workers on the large plantations that covered much of the island. As Leia grew into a teen, she helped her father with his initiatives and shared his love of freedom and opportunity for all. They had support from most people on the island as well as support at home in England, but, as they came to realize too late, they had made enemies with the East India Company. Though her father did his best to negotiate with them, it was clear they did not appreciate his interference in their affairs. With a navy more fearsome than that of the Crown and interests throughout the East and West Indies they were well equipped to take action against their enemies.

One humid summer afternoon two years ago, Leia and her father were on their sloop going for a sail about the island. They’d gone further out than usual as he’d wanted to catch a breeze on that still day. He was showing her how to gaff rig, and she was picking it up well enough. All at once, it was mayhem: a horrible explosion filled her ears and she was blinded by a flash. The boat collapsed around her as she scrambled through the shattered hull, trying to stay above the choppy waves. When her senses returned to her, she screamed for her father, and dove below the surface to find him. But he was gone. 

Though they deny it up and down, and blame it on a pirate attack, Leia knows the East India Company was responsible for her father’s death. Ever since, destroying it and the new governor of Jamaica, Baron Wiluff Tarkin, had been her goal. She had commandeered the  _ HMS Tantive _ and most of the crew had joined Leia in her crusade.

“Are you alright, milady?” Wedge asked, shaking Leia out of her memories.

“Most assuredly not. You saw that approaching fleet as well as I did. We’ve got to band together against them or all we’ve gained so far will be lost.”

“Band together? Who do you mean?”

“Everyone. Everyone we can get.”

* * *

The  _ Executor _ , it’s shining black hull cutting through the sunset, sailed in pursuit of the  _ Falcon _ . Commander Kimmund left the captain’s quarters, swept his feathered hat off his head and wiped the sweat from his brow. They’d been chasing that damned _ Falcon  _ around for two days without any luck. Ever since the  _ Devastator _ was sunk almost two months ago, Vader’s fleet had not been nearly as productive. Along with the  _ Executor _ , the  _ Devastator  _ had been their other capital ship. Without it, they were left with significantly less firepower and less capability to ambush. Though they still had the  _ Tyrant _ , it was a frigate that wasn’t useful for much other than tailing. Against a galleon like the _ Falcon _ , it didn’t stand a chance. 

“Back to port!” Kimmund ordered, and the crew immediately hopped to. 

Captain Ozzel marched down from the quarterdeck, his expression sour. “I beg your pardon, Commander. I believe I’m the one who should be giving the orders. 

“That order came from Lord Vader himself. I suppose he’d decided you two still aren’t on speaking terms.”

With a sputtering of irate syllables, Captain Ozzel stalked back to the quarterdeck. Kimmund so loved watching the way Lord Vader ruffled the feathers of these high-ranking commissioned officers. It was Ozzel’s fault in the first place they’d lost the  _ Falcon _ . 

As they sailed back in the direction of the coast, Kimmund narrowed his eyes to the sunset and watched the painted clouds drift by. Word from High Chancellor Palpatine said they’d be getting backup soon. He only hoped that backup would stay in line and do as they were told. 

Han stood on the forecastle, spyglass to his eye, scanning the horizon for the  _ Executor _ . He hadn’t spotted it in over four hours, and as the sun set, he hoped it had gone home to roost. 

Collapsing the glass, he put his hands on his hips. He thought he’d had a skeleton crew before, but now, the  _ Falcon _ was running on only 20 men, which was barely enough to keep her going. It had been hard to put together a crew in Tortuga since most everyone was scared of the East India Company, and now he knew why. After he lifted a few tons of wool fabric off a merchant ship who was headed into Jamaica, the  _ Executor _ had tracked him doggedly for two days. 

Finally, hiding out in the coastline of Saint-Domingue, it looks like they’d lost them. Now, he’d pull into port and see if anyone was interested in buying some fabric at a discount. 

Business had taken a turn for the better, Han thought to himself as he sat in his cabin counting out all the coins from the clothing sales he’d made. A clatter on deck made him grab his pistol and make for the door. Listening carefully, he groaned. The deep croaking voice could belong to only one person: Seigneur Jabba de Hutt’s majordomo Fortuna. Han should have known better than to dock anywhere that belonged to the French.

“Monsieur Fortuna, what an honor to see you,” Han said, sticking his pistol in his waistband and coming out of his cabin. A few torches gleamed from their sconces painting the darkened deck in a golden glow-- and obscuring any of Furtuna’s lackeys who might be watching from the shadows. 

Fortuna’s accent was thick and his skin seemed to have gotten even more sun-burned and pink since last Han saw him. “Han Solo. So glad you’ve made it safely back to Cariby. When you failed to return on schedule with his slaves, Seigneur Jabba feared you were lost at sea.”

Cursing himself for the worst of luck and discreetly motioning for Chewie to put down his musket, Han gave a tight-lipped smile. “I… uh...ran into some problems, but I heard Seigneur Jabba was here, so I came as soon as I could.”

“I assume you have no slaves to bring him.”

Han gave a crooked grin and spread his arms wide. “I told you, I had some problems.”

“You are lucky, Solo. Jabba wishes to offer you a reprieve. If you complete this mission for him, all will be forgiven.”

“Geat news!” Han announced, feeling the opposite. “How can I help out Seigneur Jabba?”

Withdrawing from the  _ Falcon’s _ crew that had begun to gather around, and approaching Han, Fortuna discreetly tugged a map from his coat pocket. “He wishes you to find him the box described here.” Handing the map to Han, he continued, “The item in this box makes the owner of it master of the ocean.”

“Master of the ocean? What does that mean?”

“No one knows, but it has been sought for centuries ever since it was lost. Perhaps it is a wild-goose chase, perhaps not. But Seigneur wishes for you to find it for him.”

“Simple enough.”

Fortuna cackled. “You are the cockiest man on the seven seas. I for one,” he said, leaning closer, “believe he only wants you to sail off to your death. Either end suits me.” He straightened his frock coat and walked back toward the rail. “Farewell, Captain Solo.”

And with that, he walked back down the ramp his retainers had propped up to allow him access to the ship.

Han rushed over and watched as Fortuna and his men receded up the docks. 

“Who let that slimy snake on board?”

“Sir,” one of the gunners replied. “He said if we didn’t let him onboard he’d see to it we couldn’t leave port.”

Han considered. If Jabba was here, that probably wasn’t an empty threat. Though they weren’t too formidable, the French Navy was still someone he didn’t want on his bad side. 

Chewie shouted to the crew to get back to their stations, and then came up beside Han. “ _ Mitä aiomme tehdä _ ?”

Han snorted under his breath and unrolled the map. “We haven’t really got a choice.” He looked it over and shook his head. “Can you read any of this?”

Taking it into his hands, the Finn squinted at the letters and finally shook his head. 

“I guess that’s our first step. Gotta find someone who can read this chicken scratch.” 

“ _ Se on kreikkalainen _ .”

“Greek?” Han sputtered. Then with a sigh he rolled up the map. “I know where we can go for help, but I sure don’t like it.”

* * *

Hera stood at the helm of the  _ Ghost _ , looking out at the wide expanse of ocean in front of her. These were the happiest of her moments: a smooth sea, a quiet deck, and a load of booty in the hold.

A rumble sounded from below decks and in a moment Zeb and Ezra had exploded from the hatch, the former swinging by the tail a dead rat the size of an iguana.

“No! No! Don’t touch me with it! No!” Ezra wailed.

So much for the quiet, Hera mused. Swooping up to portside there appeared a majestic silver parrot, and she knew just what that meant.

“Zeb,” she roared, “take the helm! Steady as she goes, steering off the island 10 degrees north. ” 

He lobbed the rat at Ezra and then bounded up the steps to the quarterdeck to snag the helm. “Yes, Captain.” 

“Ezra! Throw that rat overboard,” Hera ordered, stepping to the rail to receive the parrot. 

“Yes, Captain,” he answered, with far less enthusiasm.

Wrapped about the parrot’s foot was a message. She carefully unfurled it and then the silver bird fluttered up to the rigging to rest. Her orange macaw, Chopper, swooped down on him with a throaty chatter and Hera chuckled at the birds’ antics. The letter, however, stifled her laughter. 

_ H., _

_ The East India Company has sent another fleet to support their interests in the Caribbean. All we have fought for will be lost if we cannot band together to face this new threat.  _

_ If we work together, we have more of a hope than we ever have alone. Meet me at home port on Lammas day.  _

_ L. _

Hera bit her lip, feeling cold creep into her chest. Another fleet? 

“Kanon!” She called out, ignoring Ezra’s quizzical look as he stood nearby. As usual, Kanan was high up in the rigging, but he swung down to her quickly. “What’s the matter?”

“Ezra…” Hera began, but trailed off. “Go find Sabine. Meet us at the helm.”

“What’s the matter,” Kanan repeated more firmly. 

Once Ezra was out of sight, she handed Kanan the letter. After he read it, he set his jaw. “And we’ve barely got Vader’s fleet handled.”

“I hope others listen to Captain Leia’s call, or this will be the end of us all.”


End file.
